Day One:

I awoke abruptly, startled out of my sleep by the ringing of the Adhaan (Muslim call to prayer) in my ears. It took me a moment to realise where I was; to remind myself that I was no longer in the comfort of my own bed, but in a small, dark bunker almost an entire world away from the place I call home. Home... funny, if you had asked me where home was a few years ago, I would have been proud and adamant to state that it was in the very place I was now sitting. A place I now found distant and almost strange... like a dream.

I sat up and peered out the window at the bustle of the local bazaar. My eyes moved from loud merchants peddling their goods, to poorly street urchins begging their living, to the tall minarets of the Pul-e-Khishti mosque. As I listened to the eerily calming voice finish its call for prayers, I wondered what was taking place back in Britain. How was life treating my family and loved ones? My friends and colleagues, all the people and faces I had left behind? The time on my digital watch told me it was almost noon; that meant dawn was still breaking back in the West, and they were all still peacefully sleeping.

I wish I could say the same for us. We had arrived late last night - or early this morning, depending on how you wanted to look at it - and after all the paper-work and preparations were complete, we were finally sent to bed. Some had gone straight to sleep, exhausted from the journey. Others conversed all night in hushed whispers, excited at our situation. The rest lay silent in fear and apprehension, of this alien place. Still sitting in my designated cot, I watched the world go by, strangely familiar to me. It had been many years since I had returned to this part of the world, but it did not go unwelcomed. In a odd way, it felt good inside - I was amongst my people again. Or was I? I was no longer wearing my burkha, my shalwaar-kameez, my sandals. I was wearing the military uniform of an invader; a soldier who had forced their way into this country to instill peace and liberty. Yeah, that really made sense.

Would I still be a Muslim sister to these people?

I wondered to myself as my hand absently clasped the Ital-Qursi (religious text from the Qu'ran) around my neck, the tips of my fingers brushing up against the smooth steel of my dog tags. Would they receive me with open arms and warm smiles, while praises of joy went up to Allah for returning me home safe...? Or was I to be shunned from the very people who raised me, looked upon not with love but with the eyes of hatred and suspicion. Was I one of them or a traitor?

"Don't worry 'bout it kid, they ain't all that bad. Like, some of them know we're the good guys, y'know?"

One of the American soldiers had tried to pacify my concerns. I was still unsure; but maybe it was hatred and mistrust of my own kind seeping in from the back of my mind. After all, I know them better than him, because I was... because I am, one of them. At least that's what I try to tell myself, in the hopes that the confusion would wash away...I know them, therefore I have the advantage of middle ground, not the confusion... But the self-loathing and racial remarks against people of the same complexion as me do not help; I knew what the truth is. I had a more dangerous and more precarious standing than the other soldiers; I was torn between two worlds - one of old and one of new.  

I lay down again, resting my head on the pillow and forcing my eyes shut. Would I succeed in making it out alive? Without damaging my relations to either side? I tried to block the waking world out, but the sounds and smells of the market still seeped through.  It doesn't look probable, but only time will tell. For now, all I can do is sleep...